
IteH^TION 



4 




1$ 






i 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

S]ielf...K'j:53 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



f 



Cbristine's Unspiration 



BY 



BARBARA YECHTON 



> 



rN..-ua^v^v'^i_«— . lO'vvcKo. zyQj^j\y^^^y--K^oJ\jr-. 




NEW YORK 

JAMES POTT & CO., PUBLISHERS 

1892 



Copyright 

JAMES POTT & CO. 

1892 



;0 



TROW DIRECTORY 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANV 

NEW YORK 



"But thanks he to God, Zi^hich giveth us 
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 



CHRISTINE'S INSPIRATION. 



Christine Brownlow came to the 
city determined to work hard, and 
she carried out her intention with- 
out flinching. A great sorrow had 
suddenly come to her when there 
seemed to be every prospect of a 
great joy, and, as such trials some- 
times will, turned the sweetness of 
her nature to bitterness, and made a 
change in her life necessary ; so she 
left her home, and came to the big 
city to work off alone some of the 
bitter hardness that threatened to 
pervert her whole nature. 

Her means being as small as her 
ambition was great, she contented 
herself with a little room at the top 



8 Christine's Inspiratioji. 

of a lodging-house in a respectable 
but very unfashionable neighborhood 
— a bare room, whose only merit lay 
in its large skylight, which took the 
place of a window, and which, while 
it let in more cold air than was always 
comfortable in a living room, also 
admitted great patches of sunshine, 
making the place a good studio. And 
here Christine painted day after day, 
when she was not at her class, finish- 
ing first some winter scenes that she 
had brought with her, views of vari- 
ous points of interest in her country 
home, painted with an accuracy of de- 
tail, a delicacy of finish, that ought to 
have commanded a higher price than 
they brought. 

Lent had begun, Easter would 
soon be near. '' Look out for some- 
thing original," said the old picture- 
dealer, who had sold several small 



Christine's Inspiration. 9 

views for her, and who, in a dry, 
business-like way, had a Hking for 
the odd, gray-eyed girl. " Look up 
something, and paint it as well as you 
have these others, and perhaps I can 
find you a buyer for it." 

'' Easier said than done," thought 
Christine, as day after day passed and 
no inspiration came to her. In vain 
she went to sleep and rose up with 
the idea ; nothing original occurred 
to her ; her golden opportunity was 
slipping by without her being able to 
grasp it, and she was feeling very 
discouraged the afternoon she came 
home and found Billy sitting on the 
stair by her door. The hall was so 
dark that she almost stumbled over 
him. " Who are you ? " she de- 
manded, a little sharply, trying to get 
her key into the door. '* And what 
are you doing here ? " 



lO Christine s Inspiratioji. 

*' I'm Billy ; our room's awful dark 
an' tole, an' I tome out here to wait 
for my muzzer," was the prompt and 
succinct reply of the unknown. - 

By this time the door was opened, 
the eas lighted, and Christine, turn- 
ing to view her visitor, held her 
breath with admiration. He was 
about three and a half or four years 
old, with an exquisite baby face, pink 
and white coloring that suggested 
delicacy of constitution, great, solemn, 
dark blue eyes that looked black in 
the gaslight, a pathetic little mouth 
showing a gleam of pearly teeth be- 
tween the parted lips, and yellow hair 
like spun silk that turned up round 
his white forehead and hung over his 
shoulders in loose curls. A small 
red shawl was tied across his shoul- 
ders, and round his waist, over a 
shabby blue dress ; faded stockings 



Christines Inspiration. ii 

and a pair of much -worn shoes com- 
pleted his costume. 

''You small creature," cried Chris- 
tine, '' did you drop from heaven ? 
Where are your wings ? And how 
long do you intend remaining with 
us ? " 

The solemn eyes gazed wide- 
opened at her. *' I ain't dot no 
win's," he said, shaking his small 
head until his curls fairly danced. 
'' I'se Billy — muzzer's boy. I live 
dere," he pointed through the open 
door to a room on the opposite side 
of the landing. And then Christine 
remembered that she had seen a cou- 
ple of trunks and a child's shabby 
rocking chair going into that room 
when she went out the day before. 
Billy and his '' muzzer" must be her 
new neighbors. 

She asked the little man to sit 



12 Christine s Inspiration. 

down, which he did on a small foot- 
stool of home manufacture, gravely 
watching her light her fire, draw her 
curtain over the skylight, put the 
small Japanese teapot on the stove, 
and lay the cloth on the end of a 
table crowded with books, unfinished 
pictures, and odds and ends of all de- 
scriptions. Besides her own, Chris- 
tine laid a little cup which had been 
hers as a child, and which mother had 
packed up for the sake of the home 
remembrance it might call up. It was 
white, with tiny rosebuds over it, and 
evidently met the little boy's ap- 
proval, for he said " pitty " when it 
appeared. 

When the brown bread and butter 
and home-made jam were all on the 
table, and the teapot giving out a 
fragrant steam, Christine said, '' Billy, 
will you take tea with me ? " 



Christine s Inspiration. 13 

Billy hesitated. '' Muzzer didn't 
say no ? " he said, appealing to his 
hostess ; he was struggling between 
inclination and a sense of possible 
duty. 

" Of course she didn't," answered 
Christine, briskly, and when she im- 
provised a high chair out of the foot- 
stool and another chair, he allowed 
himself to be persuaded to remain. 
His quaint baby talk did her good, 
and she was laughing the first hearty 
laugh for months, when a knock came 
on the door and a slender, dark- 
haired woman entered, at sight of 
whom the child slipped down, run- 
ning to meet her. " Her ast me, 
muzzer," he said, in explanation of his 
position, which statement Christine 
hastened to confirm, trying to set her 
visitor at ease. The facts of the case 
soon came out. Mrs. Lindley was a 



14 CJiristiiic s bispiratioji. 

widow who supported herself and her 
Httle boy by sewing. She had a sad 
face, which with her black dress, told 
of recent bereavement. 

To earn enough for their support 
she had to be away from Billy for 
many hours, which was an additional 
sorrow, as she passionately loved her 
little boy. " I know it's not good for 
him to be so much alone," she con- 
cluded, '* but what can I do ? " In a 
few minutes she went away, taking 
the child with her. 

As Christine washed her dishes, an 
idea evolved itself in her brain, and as 
she put away the last one she clasped 
her hands together with a deep 
drawn breath — ''After all, Billy may 
prove to be my inspiration ! " She 
placed a fresh block of canvas on her 
easel, and went to bed anxious for the 
morrow's sun. 



Christine s Inspiration. 15 

She petitioned Mrs. Lindley that 
she might have Billy with her every 
day while his mother was out, but for 
some inexplicable reason said noth- 
ing about her intention to paint him. 
The little fellow was very content to 
be with her, and Christine worked 
rapidly while he talked or played. 
Some of his sayings startled her by 
their quaintness and pathos, and as 
the picture grew under her quick fin- 
gers, reproducing little Billy's angelic 
face on the canvas, she realized the 
extreme delicacy of the child, and a 
premonition of further sorrow for the 
poor mother grew upon her. 

She was delighted with her work 
so far, and invited the old picture- 
dealer to see her *' inspiration," as she 
called it. He came, glancing critical- 
ly from the beautiful child, who sat 
on his footstool gazing solemnly at 



1 6 Christine s hispiratioji. 

him, to the exquisite half-finished pict- 
ure on the easel. " Fine, very fine," 
he said, with a gesture of satisfaction. 
" Finish that as you've begun it, and 
it will give you a name, and I will 
promise you a buyer for it as soon as 
it is ready." 

Christine appreciated this praise, 
for she knew he was usually scant of 
commendation, and worked hard to 
get it finished for Easter week. It 
was almost completed when an unex- 
pected telegram called her home ; 
she was unavoidably detained nearly 
a week, and returned to find a great 
sorrow had fallen on her opposite 
neighbor. Little Billy had been very 
ill for several days, and now lay still 
and white in his mother's room, his 
small waxen hands folded on his 
breast. The golden hair still clus- 
tered lovingly round the blue-veined 



Christine' s Inspiratioii. 17 

brow, but the beautiful eyes were 
closed forever in this world ; the quaint 
baby tongue silenced. The broken- 
hearted mother rocked herself to and 
fro in a dumb despair that touched 
Christine more than the most violent 
demonstrations of grief could have 
done. She, too, felt the little fellow's 
death keenly, and turned his picture 
to the wall that she might not see the 
pathetic eyes that seemed to follow her 
all about her room. Little Billy was 
laid to rest beside his father, and the 
lonely mother took up her life again ; 
but the stony misery that looked out 
of her eyes was terrible to witness, 
and she grew paler day by day. 

One evening, two weeks before 
Easter, Christine crossed to Mrs. 
Lindley's with a bunch of spring flow- 
ers, daffodils and daisies, hoping the 
sight of the pretty things, with their 



1 8 Christine s Inspirntio)i. 

sweet, orreen odor, would do her 
good. She heard a low moaning, 
and as her knock remained unan- 
swered, she opened the door and 
stepped into the room. Mrs. Lind- 
ley sat with her head in her hands, 
moaning. The face she lifted to 
Christine was white and drawn, the 
eyes glittering with unshed tears. 
" Tell me," she cried, vehemently, 
'' what did my boy look like ? I close 
my eyes and see your face, the faces 
of people I have met a few times, 
people I take no interest in ; but I 
can't see a feature of my darling's 
face, I can't see the color of his eyes, 
or his hair — his pretty hair ; his face 
is a blank in my memory. I shall go 
mad if this lasts much longer, I have 
forgotten his dear face ! What shall 
I do ? Oh, my baby ! my baby ! " 
" Have you no likeness of him ? " 



Christine s Inspiration. 19 

asked her visitor, in a constrained 
voice. 

" None," answered Billy's mother, 
bitterly. ** It was always just from 
hand to mouth ; we had no money to 
spare for such luxuries — our only 
child, too. I thought of it sometimes, 
he was so beautiful. You are an ar- 
tist — Why did you not paint him ? 
Surely he was lovely enough for an 
angel." 

She dropped her head in her hands 
again and moaned. Christine an- 
swered not a word : she had grown 
very pale ; a hard expression was on 
her lips ; she laid the flowers on a 
table and left the room She locked 
her door, and by the light of the dy- 
ing afternoon sun looked long and 
critically at her work. The exquisite 
baby face looked out at her from its 
wreath of Easter lilies ; to Christine's 



20 Christine s Inspiration. 

excited fancy the blue eyes gazed re- 
proachfully at her. " I don't care," 
she cried, defiantly, " the picture is 
mine ; I conceived it, I worked it out. 
It is mine, mine, and no one shall force 
me to give it up." But she could not 
sleep that night, the cry, " I shall go 
mad if this lasts," repeating itself in 
her brain until she was thankful to 
see the morning light. For the next 
few days she painted with her door 
locked, carefully turning the picture 
to the wall at night ; she would not 
bear the reproachful look of those 
eyes any longer than was absolutely 
necessary. Christine was fighting a 
battle with her better self in these 
days. She tried to time her going 
out and coming in so as to avoid 
meeting Mrs. Lindley. 

On Wednesday of Holy Week, the 
dealer and a gentleman called to see 



CJiristinc s Inspiration. 21 

the picture, which was nearly fin- 
ished. The stranger appeared much 
impressed with Christine's '' inspira- 
tion," and the dealer told her later 
that he was almost confident he 
would buy it, so she agreed it should 
be sent for on Saturday noon. On 
Thursday afternoon, after a steady 
day's work, a desperate fit of rest- 
lessness fell on her ; the last gleams 
of the sun were disappearing behind 
the houses when she locked her door 
and started for a tramp. Two feel- 
ings were struggling within her, and 
everything she looked at appealed 
to one or the other emotion. She 
stepped into an old book store to 
turn the current of her thoughts ; the 
first book she opened was a volume 
of sermons. The text of the first 
was, *'Thou shalt love thy neigh- 
bor as thyself." She closed the book 



22 Christine s hispiration, 

hastily, and opened the next, which 
was a novel. The title page bore 
the line, '' The first great lesson of 
life is renunciation." With a scowl 
she slammed the cover to and left the 
store, but the echo of the words was 
with her yet, and pursued her up and 
down the streets as she walked rapidly 
along, seeing nothing of her surround- 
ings until night fell and the lamps had 
long been lighted ; then a quick, sharp 
rain began to fall, and Christine ran 
for shelter into the vestibule of a small 
building that attracted her eye. It 
was so small a building, with so small 
a vestibule, that, standing in it, she 
could distinctly hear every word that 
a man inside was saying in a low, 
earnest voice to some other men who 
sat on benches before him. 

The man stood on a raised plat- 
form, on which was a simple reading- 



CJiristines Inspiration. 23 

desk ; back of this were some dark 
red portieres throwing into rehef a 
simple wooden cross. '' A church," 
thought Christine, catching her 
breath. She was tempted to go out 
in the rain ; in her present mood she 
was afraid of what she might hear; 
but it was pouring — she could not 
afford to eet wet, so she remained. 

'^And after that night in Gethse- 
mane," continued the earnest voice, 
'' after the terrible emotion that drew 
great drops of blood to the Saviour's 
brow, came the arrest in the morning 
liorht, when all forsook Him and fled. 
Those whom He had loved and 
chosen, those who had promised alle- 
giance to Him, left Him in His hour 
of need, to die alone, without the 
common justice we give to a criminal 
in these days. Picture, if you can, 
the mockery of the trial that ensued ; 



24 CJiristmes Inspiration. 

the cowardly judge, afraid to oppose 
the angry people, condemning an in- 
nocent man ! Think of the indignities 
He suffered, the mockery of the pur- 
ple robe ! the cruel crown of thorns ! 
Think of the impious wretches who 
dared to strike their Lord ! dared to 
spit in His face ! " The speaker's 
voice shook with intense feeling. 
*' Oh, I fancy the angels in heaven 
must have hid their faces and wept 
for those poor, lost men. Then the 
long, weary walk under a hot Eastern 
sun, burdened with His heavy cross, 
and after that the agony of the death 
upon the cross, the dying cry of an- 
guish, the piercing spear! Your 
Lord, my Lord, God Almighty's dear 
Son, dying this shameful death that 
we might be saved. Oh, dear men 
and brothers, is it too much to ask 
that we make some self-sacrifice for 



Christine s Inspiration. 25 

Him this week ? That we think of 
Him with prayer to - morrow ? ' A 
man can do no more than this, that a 
man lay down his Hfe for his friends.' 
Remembering the agony of Calvary, 
the Precious Life that was there laid 
down for us, and all that it has 
brought us, let us each practise some 
self-denial, do some act of kindness 
this week, as a token of our love, our 
gratefulness, to the dear Christ." 

Christine had always prided herself 
on not being impressionable, but tears 
were running fast down her cheeks as 
she sped through the pouring rain, 
and for the first time in her life 
*' Christ, the Son of the living God," 
became an actual, personal presence 
to her, and the story of Calvary 
stirred her heart to its depths. 

She prayed that night as she had 
never before prayed, rising up pale 



26 CJiristvics Lispiration. 

and exhausted, but possessing a peace 
that had been absent from her for 
months. Going over, she turned the 
picture to the Hght. *' I'm not afraid 
of your eyes now, Billy boy," she 
said, softly, '' for with God's help I am 
prepared to render unto mother the 
thing that is mother's. And perhaps 
some day I may have strength to thank 
Him that He permitted the sacrifice. 
But now I'm weak, Billy, very weak ; 
and I'll have to go away, or I may fall 
into temptation again, and try to filch 
my offering from the altar whereon I 
have laid it. Yes, I must go away." 
She went out Friday morning be- 
fore eleven o'clock, not returning un- 
til late in the afternoon. There were 
signs of tears about her eyes, but 
peace still reigned. That evening 
she packed her trunk and all her pos- 
sessions. It was late when she fin- 



Christine s Inspiration. 27 

ished, and in the stillness of the night 
she could hear Billy's mother moan- 
ing, but the sound of her grief did not 
irritate the girl as it had done ; she 
glanced at the baby face on the easel 
and smiled — a smile full of pity and 
self-abnegation. 

Saturday morning she stopped at 
an express office and made arrange- 
ments to have her trunk taken away 
that afternoon, then she went to a pict- 
ure store, purchased a simple frame 
of ash wood, and had an interview 
with the dealer who had promised to 
dispose of her ** inspiration." He ex- 
postulated warmly with her, but evi- 
dently to no effect, for he cried angrily, 
as she walked away, '' She's as crazy 
as a loon. Fit for a lunatic asylum ! " 

Easter morn dawned brio-ht and 

o 

warm, the sky as blue as azure, and 
Christine could hear the birds chat- 



28 Christine s Inspii'ation. 

tering under the eaves of the house 
as she dressed. 

Billy's mother stood at her window, 
gazing up into the heavens where 
her darling had gone. She was white 
and thin, a hard, defiant light in the 
eyes that used to look so gentle — a 
contrast to the girl who entered her 
room after a hasty knock. There 
was a chastened peace in the shining 
eyes that illuminated her whole coun- 
tenance, and attracted even Mrs. 
Lindley's weary regard. Christine 
advanced. '* Please look out of the 
window for a moment," she said, with 
a sweet smile, '' I will tell you when 
to turn." 

Listlessly the mother obeyed. 
" Now," cried Christine, and she 
turned ; the visitor was gone, but on 
the lounge, lighting up the worn hair- 
cloth covering and the dingy wall 






y '^1 



J 



,^ ...u^^. 



w^^ 


-m^ 


WBM^^^^^k 


^ 


pp-" 





Christines Inspiration. 31 

against which it leaned, was a picture 
of her lost darling. Just the head and 
shoulders, floating in an azure back- 
ground. Easter lilies from the four 
corners leaned lovingly forward as if 
anxious to touch the exquisite baby 
face. It was a perfect likeness, and 
the poor mother stood spellbound for 
a few minutes, going eagerly over 
each feature ; she leaned forward to 
caress the yellow curls, drawing in her 
breath with a sobbing sound ; then 
the flood-gates of her grief were un- 
locked, and falling on her knees be- 
fore the picture, the blessed tears 
rained down her face. '' God has 
remembered me after all. Oh, my 
baby ! my baby ! " she sobbed. 

In the edge of the frame was stuck 
a scrap of paper on which was writ- 
ten, '' God has mercifully allowed me 
the opportunity to paint this picture, 



32 CJiristincs Inspiration. 

and I give it to you praying it may 
comfort you in your great sorrow." 

Later on, when her grief was 
somewhat spent, she went over to her 
neighbor's ; the door opened to her 
touch, the room was empty ; the 
bareness struck her with a misgiving. 
'' Yes," said her landlady, in answer 
to her query, '' Miss Brownlow has 
gone away for good. She did not say 
where to, and I didn't ask. But she 
particularly told me to give you her 
love if you should ask about her." 

The two women never met aeain 
on earth. The struggle and self-ab- 
negation of the one, the gratefulness 
and renewed courage of the other, 
were never expressed to each other, 
but "Me that planted the ear, shall 
He not hear ? He that formed the 
eye, shall He not see ? " 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 117 885 8 ^ 



